Fifty Dates
by narciscia
Summary: Set after 2X04. Rumbelle's Fifty Dates. A mixture of fluff and angst. T rated for sexual situations. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Fifty Dates**

**(2 part fic- this is part 1).**

**The dates appear out of order because that's how I roll**

**I will update Between the Lines too at some point**

**Spoilers 2x04.**

**Note: When I say 'fifty dates' I don't mean fifty official dates – I also incorporate little moments where they just hang out in general. I don't believe it will actually take anywhere near 50 dates to get Rumbelle living together again on the show lol. These dates continue AFTER Rumbelle have moved in again. T rated for sexual content. Mixture of fluff and angst. **

* * *

_Be honest, I told him. I want to hear it all. I want to know you. I love only you - let me know you._

_Over the course of fifty dates he did._

_As the wedding vows we eventually spoke foreshadowed: for better or worse._

_I know him now, for better or worse._

* * *

**One**.

On our first date we had hamburgers at Granny's. He ordered every sort and I took bites out of each one. I like cheeseburgers the best. I also discovered that I like barbeque sauce. I licked the sauce off my fingers and he gave me a smouldering look.

I smiled back.

Lust and love we never had a problem with. Those we had in abundance. Trust and truth we lacked.

"Tell me about your son. What was he like?"

The lust faded but smouldered somewhere in the background – as it always did when I was with him – and guilt pressed forth.

"He was a good boy," he began. The minutes faded into hours and I learnt all about the boy for whom Storybrooke was born.

Afterwards, under the watchful smirk of Ruby, I leant across the table and pressed a kiss to Rumple's cheek.

We had done more, far more, when I lived with him, but this kiss seemed to make him insurmountably happy.

Later, Ruby told me that she had never seen him smile.

"Really?" I said, "He smiles all the time…"

"Maybe around you," she said.

* * *

**Two through Six.**

On a Monday and a Wednesday we have lunch at Granny's.

People gawk at us. I would have thought he would glare back and threaten. He doesn't. He just stares at me and asks me about my day, about my life, about my friends, about the library, about books, and about my feelings.

It was on one of these Wednesday dates I asked about the rent.

"When do you want the rent?"

He chuckled at me and brushed his fingers over my own.

"You don't pay rent, Belle."

"I was told you …"

He interlinked our fingers and stared at them. "You don't pay rent, Belle," he repeated.

"I feel I should give you something…"

He squeezed my fingers gently in his own. "You do."

* * *

**Seven**

He took me down to the water's edge and we walked along the sand. I had never seen the ocean before. I rambled on about pirate stories and sea adventures and he stared off blankly into the distance.

He hugged me to him with one arm and pressed a kiss to my temple. His lips lingered and his embrace tightened.

"Pirates are real, Belle."

There was a tone in his voice, a darkness that made coldness seep into my veins. He had an untold story there, I could tell.

I knew he wouldn't voice it today though because he held my hands and tugged me away from the water's edge … as if he wanted to tug us both away from his murky past.

I went willingly and even tried to make a few subtle comments about how I wouldn't like a life at sea, or pirates.

He smiled then, but it wasn't a full smile and I wondered what pirate horrors lingered in his tortured history.

* * *

**Eight through sixteen**

On a Monday he helps me open up the library. The first couple of times he apologised for invading my space and awkwardly lingered by the door.

He was trying to keep his distance and allow me room to grow. He wanted to be near me, as I wanted to be near him – but he stayed away unless I called him over.

Nevertheless, I could feel him and see him always. I could see him watching me from across the street as I walked with Ruby; I knew he looked out of his shop window at night when I locked up. I knew he was there –always there – but at a distance.

Distance was proof of his love. Freedom was proof of his love. Selflessness was proof of his love.

Love was never in doubt. That's one thing in the world I can truly rely on: Rumplestiltskin loves me.

Loves me too much perhaps. I never thought such a thing were possible but on a Monday, when he helps me open up, I notice his fingers trembling as he unlocks the door for me and I think that love can be too much at times.

When he leaves I think we are both relieved that we can have a break from all the feelings that war in our hearts.

* * *

**Three**

On our third official date I had dinner at his home. It was our home. Now it's a definitional uncertainty.

It was strange sitting in a kitchen I had briefly thought of as my own and knew would one day be mine again … but for the moment was just his.

Above us was a bedroom we had shared. I had lain in his arms and he had kissed me. I had tasted his tongue and he had caressed my skin with his fingers and lips.

We had never progressed beyond passionate kisses and brave, lingering touches to arms and necks but the need between us had been great.

I had known he wanted more, he wanted all of me, he wanted to consume me and give me his heart and body completely. But he never pushed and in his hesitation my heart swelled for him. He had such enormous capacities for gentleness and patience.

Secrets held me back then. I would lie in our shared bed and know that I couldn't give him my body when he had not given me his trust.

On our third date he told me that his wife was called Milha and that she never loved him. He told me that Bae's first word was 'Papa' and he told me that he had beaten my father half to death.

Although the meal became ash in my mouth I found myself kissing him at the end of the evening, allowing his tongue to slide along my own and for his hands to bury themselves in my hair.

I wasn't rewarding him for the truth, but I felt the barriers between us crumble and thought, for the first time, that I could fully give myself to his man.

Not that night though.

Ruby warned me that sex occurred traditionally on the third date but my love handed me my coat and made it clear that nothing would ever occur until I wanted it.

* * *

**Seventeen**

I stormed out of the restaurant on our seventeenth date. Tears stung at my eyes and my heart burned.

"Sweetheart," he said, rising to his feet – ever the gentleman – as I stood up fiercely. "Let me explain."

"Don't bother," I said, throwing my napkin on the table.

"I do not belong to you. I am not your property and I never was."

He held his hands up desperately trying to stall me and calm me down. "Darling, I apologise, I didn't mean it now it sounded."

I shook my head and took my coat from the helpful waiter who smirked at my lover's disastrous and aborted attempts to reason with me. We were making a scene and it mortified me.

Mr Hopper was sitting at the adjacent table and silently stammered, stuck between wanting to help and yet terrified of interrupting. That only annoyed me further.

"I'm leaving," I said, having fastened up the last button of my coat.

Rumple sighed. "Well, at least we made it to seventeen outings this time. It breaks my heart to watch you go, but you are so good at it."

He spoke with a sharp tongue and instantly regretted it. Mortification spread over his features as his words infiltrated both of our hearts.

He was blaming me for leaving –this time and the last.

"I am leaving the restaurant", I stressed the word. "Don't make it into something it's not. And," I snapped, as I wrapped my scarf around my neck, "I only leave when it's impossible to stay."

Wrath had left him and the familiar swirls of guilt and agony softened his eyes. "Belle, I am sorry, I…"

"Don't," I said, breezing past him. "Come and apologise tomorrow, if you mean it. I need to take a walk."

As I stormed towards the door I heard Archie offer my lover some advice.

"Let her go."

"It's all I ever seem to do," he said.

I imagined that my heart was bleeding in my chest. I walked back to my apartment and felt tears overflow.

Love is hard.

* * *

**Nine … or Ten**

On our ninth date … I think it was nine - Rumplestiltskin tickled me. I giggled so much I dissolved into happy tears on his couch. He banished those tears with the pads of his fingers and told me he wished to make me happy every day of his life.

It was on the ninth date I realised that I was happy, truly happy.

We shared an impassioned kiss against the pillows on the couch and rubbed our noses together like playful teenagers.

I wanted to tell him I loved him but the words seemed a little insufficient.

But when he whispered, "I love you, Belle," against the shell of my ear, I echoed the sentiment back.

Then he drove me home and during the car ride I told him that I was happy.

He said he was too.

We shared a long look and I believe we both silently thought _'Things will work this time'._

Since date nine, I have never doubted it.

* * *

**Eighteen**

Well, I was never going to go back to Ursula's SeaFood Restaurant, ever again. So on our eighteenth date, I made us dinner at my apartment adjoining the library.

Rumple was quiet and I was still smarting over the public argument from the night before.

Our starter and main meals were filled with silence and failed attempts at conversation. By the time I presented our deserts I was feeling emotional and annoyed.

"To clarify," he had said, as I passed him the cream to pour liberally over his chocolate cake, "I did not wish to imply that I owned you, that you are a possession."

I swallowed my mouthful and retorted quickly, "I shall quote back to you your exact words,_ 'Belle, darling, the reason I do not like that man flirting with you is because you belong to me'_." I pointed to my chest, "I do not belong to you. I am with you by choice."

He nodded and put down his spoon, his appetite apparently gone, "Sweetheart, the fact you choose to be with me is a gift and I don't take it for granted - honestly. What I meant to say, and I admit I phrased it badly, is that I consider you to be my …" he paused and desperately searched for a term that wouldn't rankle me, "my…everything. Look," he said, stumbling over his apology, "I belong to you, gladly so. You own my heart and I'm not angry over it."

I snorted ungracefully. "You were," I said, remembering the fateful day at the Dark Castle when he spurned my love.

He sighed and closed his eyes. He was getting angry; I could sense his annoyance crackling in the air like magic sparks. "Dear," I cringed – that was a bad sign, one syllable off 'Dearie' – "I will pay for that mistake forever. I do not need reminding of it. I am well aware of my monstrous actions towards you."

"I didn't say it to be cruel," I said eventually when the bitter silence became too much. "I guess there is still some hurt between us."

"Love hurts," Rumple said, "that's the price of love."

I nodded and was heartened when he took a bite of his chocolate cake.

"Are you really mine?" I asked.

He glanced up at me and simply nodded.

"I'm yours," I promised, "but willingly so."

He nodded again and around a mouthful of cake mumbled something that sounded like an apology.

I took it.

* * *

**Eleven**

Holding his hand in mine I led him up the staircase, sharing shy smiles with him as we slowly moved towards the bedroom. As I stood in the doorway, his hand warm in mine, I saw the bed was unmade and the window was open making the air inside bitterly cold.

"Have you…" I stuttered, looking around the room, seeing my nightgown on the floor where I had dropped it on the day of my abduction, "have you not been in here since I left?"

He looked embarrassed and shook his head, his hand struggling with mine to detangle itself. He wanted to retreat but I held firm.

"Rumplestiltskin, where have you been sleeping?"

He shrugged and my heart broke.

I remembered seeing my chipped teacup on the side table next to the couch and I had my answer. "Are you sleeping on the couch?"

He ignored me and looked at the floor.

I swallowed hard; my arousal had been dampened by the torrid of sadness, guilt and empathy that washed over me. He was so damaged and tragic, my beautiful, struggling man.

"I'll go and shut the window," I said, "then we can have a lay down and get some sleep."

We didn't make love that night. That wasn't to be our first time.

It didn't matter because we both found a forgotten peace just lying in each other's arms.

It was on date eleven I realised just how badly I slept without Rumplestiltskin breathing next to me.

* * *

**Four.**

On our forth date we merely spent a rainy afternoon in the library. Rum was helping me use the computer, a shiny thin rectangle that he had bought me that apparently 'had everything'. It was the best 'Apple Mac' and had a shiny white Apple print on the front. He changed the picture on the screen to one of a forest and it reminded me of home.

I kissed him lightly in thanks and enjoyed the patience he showed when he helped me work it.

During the afternoon, as the rain splattered against the windows, I asked him to show me how to spin.

"Now I have the hang of this, you can show me other things… like… oh….how to spin maybe."

He laughed and brushed a lock of hair out of my face, his fingers lingering against my skin. "A spinner, hmmm? We'll see."

"Did you teach your son and wife?"

He fingers left my face quickly, as if burned. "No."

"I'm sorry." I instantly regretted making him relive the pain of his lost and beloved family. "I just wondered."

He returned his attention to the laptop, pressing quickly at keys, starting a 'database' for me (so I understood). Without taking his eyes off the screen, he said, "I wanted better for Bae. As for… Milha," he hesitated at her name, "she was never one to listen."

I liked that he was opening up and wanted to encourage it. "Was she impatient, like me?"

"She was nothing like you," he said so firmly that I felt jolted by the remark.

"What was she like?"

He frowned, still tapping away at the keys, and then said, "Nothing like you."

I didn't know what that meant but a strange atmosphere lingered around us then. I could sense darkness around us and wondered if his first marriage was as terrible as I was starting to imagine.

"Rum, what happened to your wife, your Milha?"

He scoffed, "She was never mine."

I frowned at the implication and pressed forward. "What happened to her? You said she left?"

His fingers paused briefly and then just as quickly continued to fly over the keyboard. "She died."

"I'm sorry…" I said. And truly I was for he must have cared on some level for the mother of his child. I had always imagined that he loved her but he squashed that thought with one single line:

"She got what she deserved."

"That's a horrible thing to say," I said.

"Doesn't make it less true, love."

I shook my head. I felt cold and stuffed my hands into my pockets. "How did she die?"

He was still looking at the bloody laptop.

"In the arms of her lover."

Nothing could be said in response. I just stared at him and he ignored me.

When the database was completed he squeezed my shoulder before leaving the library and venturing out into the rain.

* * *

**Twenty**

We danced.

My lover made the laptop play music and in the reception area of the library we danced, slow and close. Not quite a waltz and more of a sway. I wrapped my arms around his neck and breathed in the heady scent of him. Momentarily – as we clung to each other – I was transported back to our home in the Enchanted Forest and remembered how intoxicating I found him… even then.

Rumplestiltskin drew me into a kiss that made me melt against his body. We came to a standstill and exchanged deep kisses that soon became filled with primal want. As his desire became apparent he pulled back from me to gaze deeply into my eyes.

"I would pick you up and carry you to the bedroom but I don't believe that will work particularly well."

I glanced at the shuttered windows and smiled impishly up at him. "Why the bedroom?"

It was on date fifteen that my library became ours.

* * *

**Twenty- eight.**

On a Thursday lunchtime I sat in the backroom of his shop sipping tea. My lover had been morose the entire day and seemed incredibly burdened.

"Do you have something you wish to say?" I asked as I breathed in the scent of Earl Grey to calm my nerves.

"I murdered my wife."

He spoke so calmly and so suddenly that it took me a few seconds to comprehend his words and organise them in my mind. When the meaning settled, I gasped audibly and stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Wh… what?"

"Milha," he said, staring into his teacup, "I killed her."

"Accidentally?" When he said nothing I bit my lip and swallowed a tidal wave of sickness that rose within me. "Deliberately?"

He nodded once, a tiny movement, but enough that had been careening away from him. I left the table we were gathered around and stood by the curtain that divided his shop from his personal space and folded my arms around myself.

"What happened?"

"There's not much to say. She left and I killed her."

"Out of revenge?"

He shook his head and I didn't know whether that meant 'yes', 'no' or whether he could even recall.

"Do you regret it?"

He went to speak but I stopped him. "Answer honestly."

"I regret killing my son's mother," he said – oh so very clever with words.

"Why did you do it?"

"Does it matter?"

I closed my eyes, wanting to cry and not sure who was deserving of my tears more – the man, the wife or the son. Maybe myself. Us?

"Belle," he whispered – and his voice was so soft and so loving that it made me burst into tears – "I never loved her like I loved you."

I cried harder, my folded arms squeezing myself tighter.

Wisely, he didn't try to approach me, had sat at the table, warming both hands around the teacup.

"I lost my son, my wife betrayed me and… I killed her. I regret… so much Belle." He took a shuddering breath and I realised then, behind my veil of tears, he was crying too.

"Then I thought you had betrayed me too…but I couldn't hurt you, couldn't touch you, couldn't… I love you so much Belle. I would never hurt you … you can break me however you want but… I'll never hurt you."

I damned him with my eyes. What was he saying to me? That he loved me too much to kill me?

"I love you too much to be that …"

His voice trailed away but I cursed him all the same. "Evil," I supplied and he nodded. The sudden movement of his head causing tears to trickle down his face.

We didn't talk for a twelve days after that. It took a further nine for me to smile again.

To this day I can't express how deeply I feel over this conversation.

We don't speak of Milha – ever.

But I think of her often and wished he could have loved her as much as he loves me… enough to not succumb to the darkness.

* * *

**Thirty seven**

My heart beat staccato in my chest as I rested my body over his and tried to regulate my breathing. Every nerve ending in my body fizzled and buzzed. I smiled against his bare chest and pressed a kiss over his heart.

His left hand made long, sweeping motions up and down my naked back, while his right played with the lengths of my hair.

"I love this," I breathed, almost a whisper.

"I love you," he uttered back quietly, but reverently. "Will you move back?"

"Soon," I promised.

He kissed my hair and I could feel his smile.

* * *

**Six**

On the sixth date I was too sick to venture outside, so in my new, beautifully decorated apartment, I lay in bed and watched cartoons on the television (the television that had magically appeared the day I moved in).

I don't know how he found out I was sick but Rumplestiltskin turned up with medicine and DVD that Ruby had apparently recommended.

I coughed and spluttered all over him as he sat next to me on the bed but he didn't complain.

He made me soup and then when I was sick he held my hair back and pressed a cool, damp cloth to the back of my neck.

I apologised as I sat on the bathroom floor, smelling of vomit and looking like death. He pressed the cool cloth to my forehead and told me it was "No matter".

As I drifted to sleep he mumbled lines from a book and as I faded into slumber I felt him kiss my cheek.

Although he was gone when I woke up, my breakfast was waiting on a tray next to me and he had written on a piece of scrap paper:

'I'll be back at lunch time to make you lunch. I love you, R.'

* * *

Part 2 will be up soon. I am still in the course of writing it so if you're quick you can prompt dates or scenarios and I can try and write them in for you.

Please do review if you enjoyed it or have constructive criticism.

Thank you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to everyone who favourite, followed and/or reviewed this story. I was blown away by the response. As such I have tried to fulfil the prompts given to me. So look out for them if you asked for something.**

**This is the conclusion. **

**I will return to In-between the lines BUT S2 has wrote me into a corner as obviously there is a conflict between what I wrote and what happened. When I work out what I can do about that I will return to it. **

* * *

**Fifty Dates: Part Two.**

**Two**

At the end of our first date Rumplestiltskin stood awkwardly before me in front of the library and asked, "Have you ever had pizza?"

The word was foreign to me and as I watched him inspect his shoes before glancing up at me with trepidation and hope. "No…"

I bit my lip and waited for him to be brave.

"Would you like to go out again? For Pizza?"

I smiled and nodded. "When?"

"Tomorrow?"

However, he knew as well as I did it was a little too soon. I didn't want to be propelled into another consuming and whirlwind romance (even if it was with the same man, my true love). When I hesitated he tried again – "Next week? Same night?"

I nodded again and felt my smile widen - I knew I was grinning like a besotted idiot. Then, for an awkward moment we became suddenly embroiled in a strange intensity. I held my breath as he bravely leaned in but at the last moment his confidence expired and rather than pressing a kiss to my cheek he whispered into my ear, "Goodnight Belle."

"Goodnight, Rumplestiltskin." He paused mid-step and even through the blanket of darkness I could see him smile.

On our second date we went to a restaurant that sold only pizza and fried chicken. Rumplestiltskin had frowned at the décor and gazed with dissatisfaction at the menu. I didn't mind. The waft of grease and fat from the kitchen didn't bother me and the thin bread with tomato and cheese was delightful – better than the burger perhaps.

"Maybe on our next … outing we can try something a little more…" he wiped his greasy fingers on his napkin, "upmarket."

Sipping on my soda, loving the way the liquid bubbled and fizzed on my tongue, I said, "I'm not picky."

He laughed, "Good thing too."

"Oh?"

"If you were picky, I wouldn't stand a chance."

Sensing seriousness behind the quip, I told him honestly, "You'll always stand a chance."

He raised his eyebrows as if he didn't quite believe me, but he didn't argue.

At the end of the date we stood again in front of the library and this time when he wished me goodnight I felt the briefest brush of his lips against my temple.

I watched him walk away.

I knew that no matter what my head might tell me; in my heart he would always have a chance.

In fact, he is the only one who does.

* * *

**Twelve**

On the twelfth date I entered the pawn shop and heard Rumplestiltskin shout from the backroom that he would be out in a minute. I flicked the sign over from 'open' to 'closed' and pulled down the blind at the window.

"Belle."

The way he uttered my name – a murmuring of wonder and adoration – always stirred my heart. It was almost as if he was stunned and honoured to see me every time his eyes fell upon my form. A better woman would be embarrassed and uncomfortable with such worship; a better woman would try to discourage it; a better woman would fear it.

I loved it. It, he, intoxicated me. He always had done, even when he was a cursed man with claws for hands. Those hands I would have allowed upon me even then. I am not ashamed to confess, even to him, that the maiden wanted the beast and would have given him everything he desired if he had only asked.

I am just as bewitched by him as he is with me. He is just more blatant with it. More visually desperate. I knew it made him vulnerable as a result. I know he expected and feared me leaving – even now. The knowledge makes me love him more possessively.

This strong man, his powerful and magical man …is so fragile in this meeting of hearts.

"I'm taking you out," I said. "And you won't be coming home; you'll be staying with me tonight."

"And the occasion is?"

"That I can't bare another moment without you."

He smiled, one that lit up his face and made his eyes shimmer. He looked down, using the mundane pattern on the floor to calm the rise of emotions, to hide his smile and to school his features. When he met my eyes again he was Mr Gold but under the carefully constructed layers of his Storybrook persona, I saw the fractured and wounded man bask in my words.

_You are wanted, Rumple. You are loved. You are adored and you are mine._

_You are not alone. _

_I love you – always have, always will._

* * *

**Fourteen **

As the weeks flew by I felt us settle into the closest version of normality we had ever reached. We spoke every day, whether by phone or in person; long discussions or fleeting moments in the street. After twenty eight years of division I felt that just living in the same town as him, knowing I had his heart was a beautiful closeness that filled me with absolute happiness and completion.

Yet, at the same time I missed him. Even when I sat opposite him during dinner dates I missed him. I missed sharing my life completely with him and the agony in his gaze when I departed from him after dates crushed me. We were meant to be together; we were cut from the same cloth in the tapestry of life. Our lives are intertwined and my soul cries out to be with him always.

Rumplestiltskin didn't know it, but on the fourteenth date I had decided that I might move back in with him; share his mornings and be part of his night-times. To be that little bit closer; to make a home with him once more.

Unfortunately it didn't transpire on the fourteenth date.

On this particular date, we went out for a meal; we sat at a central table around a single candle and ate tiny food on large plates. I had the bubbly drink (I now know is called Champagne) that I'm aware costs a fortunate and goes straight to my head. Rumplestiltskin held my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles, and told me all about his childhood – his parents and his two brothers: both whom died in their early infancy. I clutched his hand then, my heart breaking knowing that he had truly been lonely his entire life – except for his fleeting years with Baelfire and myself.

Then the perfection was shattered as I became aware of a waiter making cruel and snide comments. Comments about me. Ordinarily I wouldn't care but I knew once Rumplestiltskin was aware all hell would break lose. I tried to distract my lover by stroking his fingers with my own and asking him questions about his day but suddenly he tensed and cocked his head to the side. He had heard. Inwardly I cringed and felt my heart sink rapidly to beat nervously in my stomach.

Rumplestiltskin turned his head slowly, his eyes hard and brutal as he stared over at the waiter who mumbled obscenities to his colleague.

"Leave it," I said quickly. "I don't care and I don't want a scene." But although my lover clearly heard me, he ignored me. "Rumplestiltskin," I hissed, "don't react. Let's just go." I tugged at his hand. "Let's go," I implored.

It was when the stupid man uttered the fateful line; "The Dark One's Whore" that Rumplestiltskin magically transported himself from his chair to behind the waiter in a single, fluid movement. Without warning his cane looped over and plummeted down on the man's head with such force that he lost consciousness for a split second and lay limply cross an empty table.

He hit him again; another brutal downwards smash.

Between my horrified gasp and the manager running around the counter, the man's eyes had flickered opened and tears of pain ran free. Wretched, he whispered around a mouth awash with blood, "You wouldn't deal. You let the warlord come. They …my wife…My wife died…because we had nothing you wanted. You called us vermin" he spat, sending a trickle of blood over the pristine counter. "You're less than vermin, you're filth." He coughed, spluttering around the bleeding mess of crushed teeth, "You deserve to lose _everything_. Especially _her_."

The cane came up again, ready for a third downwards swing but this time it smacked hard against my hand as I caught it. Grimacing in pain I held tight and used it to wrench my lover close to my face. "Enough."

Instantly the rage drained from him and his hands let go of the cane, allowing me to hold it in my throbbing fist.

"Are you ok, Belle? Let me look at your hand…"

The man chuckled, a broken and hysterical noise. "Look at him now. The demon in love, thinking he is entitled to what the rest of us had stolen…"

"Don't make it worse," the manager snarled, pulling the man towards the bathroom, thrusting a tea towel against his bloody left cheek.

"That's what vermin does – vermin scuttles away." Rumplestiltskin briefly watched the man go, with a sneer on his face. Then just as suddenly, his expression was soft and full of remorse as he glanced down at my reddened palm.

"Sweetheart, I am so sorry…"

"Are you happy?" I asked.

"What?" he said aghast, "No… never… Belle…"

"To have the last word?" I clarified. "Are you happy to have had the last word?"

He looked at me uncomprehending, his fingers gently caressed my palm in soothing small circles that replaced the sting with warmth.

"Belle, he…"

"I don't care what he did. I care about you, you and your actions. I told you to leave it. I practically begged you."

"I'm sorry," he said quickly and honestly in front of a full restaurant of onlookers.

"Sorry for what?" I asked.

"Sorry for hurting you."

I pulled my hand away from his and said, "Is that it?"

"What?" at that moment he seemed both desperate to please me and utterly frustrated.

"Is that all you're sorry for?"

"I'm sorry you're upset?"

As I walked away I heard him apologise for making me angry, for disappointing me, for spoiling our evening, for scaring me.

Not once did he apologise for beating that man. He could apologise, teary eyed, over inadvertently hurting my hand but could not and would not apologise for aggressively beating a man.

Worse, the fact that his violence was an issue didn't even register.

Later that evening he called me on the phone and apologised for scaring me and promised me that he would never, ever hurt me – if that's what I was worried about.

"You need never be scared of me Belle; I would sooner die than hurt you. If you fear me, never allow me to visit you again. I will not have you live in fear."

"I don't fear you," I said instantly and honestly. I sighed. "It's not all about me, Rumple."

There was a silence on the end of the line.

Sometimes I wonder if all that exists in his own private orbit is Bae and I.

While it's wonderful to be the moon and the stars to him, I do fear for everyone else who is a little too mortal, ordinary and expendable in his eyes.

I didn't move back in for a long time after that. I also didn't go with him to court. I didn't even congratulate him when he got off scot-free due to provocation. As much as I loved and missed him – I knew that returning soon after that incident would only set a dangerous precedent and I would never tolerate such behaviour in my name.

He cried when I told him as such; silent tears that made my heart bleed for him.

That was the problem though – he would only ever cry over me and Bae.

To this day I don't really think _that's_ changed.

* * *

**Nineteen **

Rumplestiltskin had ventured into the back of the closed pawnshop to make us tea. I stood in the front, looking at his wares and peering into the cabinets. The hideous puppets caught my eye, made me blanch and quickly I turned away. As I turned I was faced with a large, tall, glass cabinet: empty, save for the chipped cup that occupied the highest shelf all on its own.

I smiled at it and pressed my fingers to the glass.

The cup was always everywhere and nowhere. I never knew where it was from one day to the next – Rumplestiltskin moved it daily. Over the course of living with him and dating him I had found the cup in various places in his home and in the shop. There were times I caught him cleaning it, holding it and hiding it. There were two hiding places I knew of - a lead box under floorboards in the living room and a box at the back of his wardrobe.

I never had the courage to ask him why he did these curious and obsessive things. It was private – something precious between him, his cup and his heart. Now, even with me back and us starting all over again, he worshipped the cup. When he handled it he either touched it with gossamer brushes of his fingertips, so gentle it was if he was afraid the cup would shatter in his heavy hands and the love we had would fracture with it. Other times I saw him grip it, knuckles white, with all the pain, passion, agony and love that consumed us both.

Sometimes when I touched it, or held it, he would smile at me with shining, emotional eyes and then gently retract it. He protected it even from me.

I would go as far as to say he loved it.

"Here we are my dear," he announced, coming into the main shop holding a tea cup towards me; a plain white cup without a chip.

"Thank you. I was just looking at our cup." I said, gesturing to the cabinet.

He glanced at it, his eyes lingering for a second before smiling at me. "New cabinet," he said.

"The cup isn't staying here?"

He shook his head. "No, not in plain sight like that."

"Where are you going to move it to?" I asked.

He hesitated and I felt a rush of affection rise within me – this was a man who would tell me about his son and his curse but was reluctant to divulge the secret of his cup. "Home," he said without elaboration.

"Sometimes," I said with a coy smile, wanting to tease him, "I think you love that cup more than you love me."

"Belle," he replied softly, "the notion of loving something more than I love you is horrifying."

His confession was not something I expected and as I rushed forward to embrace him I knocked his tea cup off the counter and sent it – contents and all – tumbling to the floor where it bounced and spilled tea all over the wood.

He bent down to pick it up and laughed heartily as he showed me a tiny chip from the handle. "Well, my dear, this one can be yours." He handed me the cup, chuckling all the while.

Blushing furiously I said, "I am _so_ sorry…"

Perhaps deliberately repeating his line from worlds ago he said, "No matter."

I accepted the cup and brushed my finger over the tiny chip. "Smaller chip this time, that's improvement."

"It is," he said with a deep look.

"What do I do with it?" I said, turning it over in my hand, feeling the sticky moisture of tea still coating the inside.

"Save it for moments of absence."

Feeling emotional I glanced up, swallowing down my rising feelings. His right hand folded over mine so that we were both cradling the newly chipped cup. "A sign Belle, that even when separated we are forever connected."

* * *

**Forty seven**

Sitting in the room at the back of the pawnshop I rifled through a box of jewellery my lover was in the process of cleaning and restoring. As my lover made deals in the main shop with a man who used to be an elf, I rumbled through broken necklaces, crushed tiaras and an ocean of rings.

Bored and happy to entertain myself I sat in front of a mirror and wrapped several necklaces around my neck, placed one of the nicer tiaras on my head and pressed a ring onto every finger, then grinned at my reflection. I was awash in tarnished gold and smelt of old metal. It reminded me of dressing up in my mother's ball gowns and jewels when I was tiny, before she passed…

After an indulgent few minutes I peeled away the jewellery and placed them back into the box; first the tiara, then the necklaces and finally the rings. All expect one. On my left hand one ring failed to shift, no matter how hard I tugged it and twisted it. I even sucked my finger into my mouth but no amount of lubrication seemed to budge it.

In the other room I heard the deal wind to a close and the bell over the door tinkle as the elf departed.

"Belle, are you ready to…" He paused as he stepped into the back room, watching me suck my finger. "What are you doing?"

I withdrew my finger and held my hand up to show him the problem.

He chuckled. "Well, most ladies wait to be asked but… you have always been the mistress of your own destiny."

I frowned. "What?"

"Congratulations," he said with a smirk.

I tugged at the ring again, trying to twist and slide it. "On what?"

"Our engagement."

I glanced at my hand, realising for the first time the relevance of having the ring stuck on my ring finger. "Ha ha."

"No really, it's very modern of you."

I stuck my hand out, "Help."

He laughed and moved around his desk and rummaged through the drawers. Finally he withdrew a small, thin pair of metal cutters.

"Oh no," I moaned, "don't cut it."

He shrugged as if the item meant nothing to him. He took my hand gently and snipped the metal free; the ruined ring tumbled to the floor. "I'm sorry."

"No matter," he promised, lifting my hand a pressing a kiss to the red mark left behind by the ring. "It's not the one I picked out for you anyway."

* * *

**Five**

On the fifth date I tried to cook and it didn't turn out very well so Rumplestiltskin showed me how to make food come to me by calling restaurants on the phone. We had Chinese food delivered to the door and I'm sad to say that ordering in became a terrible habit of mine before I finally moved back home and Rumplestiltskin prepared most of my dinners. Thursdays became the Chinese takeout day; so infamous I was that Mr Lau simply said he would dispatch the 'usual' and would always toss in five fortune cookies. Not that anyone ever needed five fortunes.

The fifth date wasn't important for that reason though. It was on the fifth date that Rumplestiltskin was brave enough to kiss me properly again. It started out as a gentle, loving kiss but soon the fire of our true love and the weight of our separation turned the soft kiss into a passionate fusion. His mouth opened against me and his tongue teased my own in desperate but sensual caresses. For the first time since our separation he wound his fingers in my hair and groaned into my mouth. His fingers trembled against my scalp and he panted against me. The onslaught of sudden passion made me melt and quiver against him as I lay back against the couch and tugged him to rest over me. Over my sweater, his hand gently brushed over the rise of my breast making me gasp with a sudden deep sting of pleasure. I felt his desire urgently press against me and before I could consider whether or not I wanted to succumb, he was scrambling off me in a mad rush and stammering something about me needing time and him needing more patience. With a brisk kiss to my flushed cheek he rushed away and exited my small apartment.

As I lay there panting and frustrated I did wonder whether this time he had been a little _too_ thoughtful.

* * *

**Eight**

When we tried a picnic it rained.

Rumple had made us a lovely lunch, housed in a wicker picnic basket and even included wine.

We sat at the picnic table for all of seven minutes before the heavens opened and drenched us in a sudden downpour. We hurried for the treeline and stood under a large red fir tree. We laughed and huddled together as the wine glasses overflowed with raindrops and turned the red wine rose.

My clothes became soaked and my teeth started to chatter. Rumple unbuttoned his suit jacket and pulled me in close to his body, allowing my arms to wrap around his middle and my head to rest over his heart.

* * *

**Thirteen **

I don't remember anything about the day; not what I did during the morning and afternoon; not where we went on our date; not anything that was said. I don't even remember what I was wearing – although Rumplestiltskin assures me (in vivid detail) that it was a green dress which matched the deep green of his tie. I remember nothing much at all except the sensations and soul satisfying completion as he led me to his bed and made me his in body.

I'm sure there was pain, awkwardness and embarrassment but I don't recall any of that. I remember it being perfection and I remember the words of love whispered against my heated flesh and frankly that's all I need to remember of that night.

Rumplestiltskin says he remembers everything in sharp detail and smiles at me as if he can recall every touch and every utterance perfectly. Maybe he can.

I just remember trembling in his arms and feeling complete and utter peace.

The next day is clearer. Of that I remember waking up to his eyes gazing at me centimetres away; I remember slow and playful lovemaking; laughter, breakfast in bed and a sleepy afternoon punctuated only by kisses.

* * *

**Thirty two**

We argued and finished the evening in sullen silence.

It don't know how it had taken me months to work it out but Gaston wasn't in Storybrook.

It was a long time ago – it is all in the past and he is changing now. His love for me, his massive capacity to love me, is proof of that.

He is changing and I love him for it. However, I still had every right to stare daggers at him across the table when he confessed that he enchanted my fiancé for no other reason than he 'posed a threat'.

The notion was absurd and I told him as much as I stormed out of his house, letting the door slam shut behind me.

* * *

**Forty three**

We lay on the sofa with only the patchwork quilt I made to cover us. Rumplestiltskin slumbered against my chest as I stared out of the window at the drizzling rain and pitch darkness. Thunder boomed and lightning struck in sporadic flashes. In the brief streaks of illumination the chipped cup (which had been moved to stand on a pedestal in his living room) caught the light and shone brightly.

In the darkness I carded my fingers through my lover's hair and thought that when the storm was over all would be well.

I pressed a kiss to his warm forehead and smiled.

The storm was nearly over.

* * *

**Fifty**

Our dates concluded with a single line. It was a penultimate line in the story of us and opened up a new chapter.

Just like on the day I met him - worlds and ages ago - he asked me to be with him forever.

As before, I accepted.

Forever started this day.

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading. I have no beta for T rated fics so please forgive any silly errors. I do hope you enjoyed it and would be extremely grateful for any feedback and comments. **


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